


Blocked

by Medie



Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen, Gen Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-13
Updated: 2011-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-14 18:06:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The blinking cursor, mankind's weapon in the war on writers, claims another victim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blocked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grammarwoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grammarwoman/gifts).



"Oh my god, what made me think that I could do this?" Feeling bleak, Tim stared at the laptop before him and willed the words to appear. Naturally this didn't happen, the cursor sat stationary, mocking it with its steady blinking.

The happy little bastard.

"I'm guessing the exorbitant advance probably had something to do with it," said Tony. He appeared in front of the laptop's screen. "Taking play to work, McGee?"

Tim glared. "No. It's new. Have to break it in and I couldn't get anything done at home and—what's that smile about?"

"Writer's block," Tony pronounced, more than a little gleeful. "You're _blocked_ , Mc-Ex-Lax."

"I am _not_." Tim stared at the screen again and then sighed. He really, really hated that damn cursor. "Well, maybe just a little. I just—" he waved a hand expansively at the computer. "They're screaming for the first couple chapters of my latest and that would be great except I don't actually _have_ any."

It was a bit late to be worried about that now. A crisis of confidence _after_ the best seller? Tim was pretty sure they were supposed to come beforehand and, wow, this was not how this was supposed to be going.

He sat back, rubbing his eyes and stretching his arms over his head. "I shouldn't be thinking this hard about it. It's just going to make it worse."

"Sounds like sound advice," Tony said. His eyes gleamed a little. "Wouldn't want those million dollar brains of yours splooging all over that shiny new computer." Standing up, he edged closer to look at it. "That a custom job, McGoogle? Knowing you, it has to be. Our little Timmy wouldn't just buy off the rack."

Tim closed the laptop and scowled at him. "Knock it off, DiNozzo. I'm working here."

"Doesn't look like it to me, McGeek," Tony said, pulling him up out of the chair. "Looks to me like you're doing absolutely nothing." He gripped Tim's shoulders, leaning in close. "C'mon, Probie, share with Uncle Tony—what's the problem?"

"The problem is—" Tim closed his eyes. "I don't know. Maybe that's the problem. I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Well, now, that's a first."

When Tim opened his eyes, Tony was looking at him with a grin. "What's a first?"

"Our McPedia doesn't have an answer." Bouncing on his heels, Tony tipped his head. "That's calendar marking important, McGee. Why, I think my world is askew. I may have to take a moment to reconsider my place in the universe."

"Shut up, Tony," McGee replied. "I'm blocked, I'm not brain dead." He winced even as he spoke. "Okay, that was just completely and totally offensive, so let's forget I said anything, all right?"

"Consider it done," Tony said. "To be honest, McGee, I'm still stuck on the not having an answer thing." He pressed a hand to Tim's forehead. "Are you sure you're okay? You seem a little hot, and I mean that in the elevated temperature sense, not the McFabio sense. Although, I must say, you are looking quite smart in that suit. Have we been shopping in the big boy department lately?"

There were moments in Timothy McGee's life when he absolutely wished to employ language that his mother definitely wouldn't approve of—his sister, yes, but not his mother—and most of those moments, he'd found, involved Anthony DiNozzo. Moments like now.

He didn't, however. He wanted too, but he didn't. That way lay days and days of Tony marveling over Tim's use of 'fuck you and the finely tuned automobile you sped in on—in, spend in-in. God, that sounded ridiculous in his head and he was supposed to be a writer.

This _sucked_.

"McGee?" Tony's voice, surprisingly serious, pulled Tim out of his inner rant. "You with me?"

"Yeah," Tim said, nodding. "Why?"

Tony smiled. "Know what's worse than having a movie bomb?" He waited for Tim to shake his head before explaining, "Having it hit _big_. You're putting too much pressure on yourself, Probie. You wrote the first one for fun, right? Well, do that with the second one. Who cares what the publisher says? You're in this for fun. The rest of the time, you're out there protecting life, liberty, and the geek way. You've got more important things to worry about than deadlines and dustjackets."

That said, he stepped back. "For the record? The book wasn't awful. Could've done a better job with me, but hey, it's not like you shot me, right?"

Tim blinked. A second later, he was at his laptop and typing as fast as his fingers could manage. He'd catch the typos later.

"McGee—" Tony's wary voice penetrated the haze, but barely. " _Probie_!"

"Can't talk," Tim muttered. "Writing."

"You're shooting me, aren't you?" Tony asked, wary. "You are seriously shooting me right now."

"Of course he is, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, sweeping by with the sweet, sweet smell of coffee wafting behind him. "He's living the dream."

McGee didn't snicker. He didn't. Really. He had to finish his sentence first.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Evil Plans (aka "Remix In MIrror is Closer Than It May Appear")](https://archiveofourown.org/works/387511) by [Gray Cardinal (Gray_Cardinal)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gray_Cardinal/pseuds/Gray%20Cardinal)




End file.
